Give His Little Senate Laws, and Sit Attentive to His Own Applause
by Citizenjess
Summary: Obi-Wan's appeal to the Senate for better prison food following his subterfuge as Rako Hardeen might require some aggressive negotiations.


Summary: Obi-Wan's appeal to the Senate for better prison food following his subterfuge as Rako Hardeen might require some aggressive negotiations. Set shortly after the "Deception" arc. Dedicated to Sarah, Rin, Estora, and Jen. Title comes from a poem by Alexander Pope.

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**Give His Little Senate Laws, and Sit Attentive to His Own Applause**

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Initially, he had attempted to appeal directly to the small denomination of politicians whose company he could actually stand. That had, alas, been a rather abject failure, largely due to the uncharacteristic apathy of those to whom he had appealed. "It's not that I'm not blind to the plights of the imprisoned, Obi-Wan." Bail Organa's tone had been polite, but the sincerity of his words did not quite reach his eyes, which couldn't quite hold Obi-Wan's gaze. "It's just that we're at war, and, as I'm sure you're aware, there are far more important matters to waste - spend," he corrected himself quickly, coughing into his fist a couple of times for good measure - "precious resources on. I'm sorry, Ben." He'd looked disappointed when Obi-Wan had then coolly turned down an offer to stick around for 'tea time,' their code word for afternoon sex in Bail's office, though he hid it fairly well.

Unfortunately, Padme had been even less diplomatic, more than likely owing to the fact that that particular late afternoon (and probably several others, at that) had seen her tossed on inexpensive boxed wine, some of which had dripped, Obi-Wan couldn't help but silently observe, onto her very expensive cream-colored sitting room furniture. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," she'd slurred, and before Obi-Wan was compelled into judicious Force usage in order to save the much-loved wine glass dangling ineffectively from Padme's clumsy, swollen fingers, one of her handmaidens rushed into the room and caught it in a truly impressive display of reflexes. "I can barely get anyone to listen to me when it's something important," the former Queen of Naboo trilled as Dorme dabbed dutifully at her chin, dribbling with Sunset Blush, and Obi-Wan had taken his leave from her posh personal quarters rather quickly after that.

Making the preparations for a Plan B was a simple enough endeavor; all he had to do was wait for a busy in-session day in the Senate, of which there were several as of late, since, as Bail had smarmily informed him, they were in the midst of a war, after all. Watching the various finely-robed diplomats file into the cafeteria from his vantage point a ways from the double doors, Obi-Wan made for an unimposing figure, shrouded in neutral brown Jedi robes. Even his cavorting into the cafeteria proper did not seem to raise any eyebrows - it wasn't uncommon for members of the High Council to dine with the Chancellor, after all. It wasn't until Obi-Wan chose a table strategically placed towards the center of the room, hopping atop it with a cheerful spring in his step, no less, that heads began to turn.

"Obi-Wan." Adjacent to Obi-Wan's table sat Bail, alongside several members of the Loyalist Committee, one well-manscaped eyebrow raised furtively. "I, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Others had started to notice, as well; with little effort, Obi-Wan had a captive audience about him.

"This won't take long, I promise," the slight Jedi Master beamed. "I've recently spent time inside of the Republic's prison system, observing its inner-workings for the purposes of continued diplomacy. I've come here today to lay out a simple, yet easily achievable plan for improving the state of the incarcerated populace's food supply." From seemingly nowhere, a datapad was produced. "Now, I've taken the liberty of outlining a six-point plan for ensuring that the dietary needs of Republic prisoners are met by healthful, edible meals that appeal to their collecti-"

"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry, really I am." Bail stood up, face carefully schooled into neutrality, though the edge in his voice was readily apparent. "But I think you know that this is hardly proper Senatorial procedure. Surely you understand the protocol for putting forth new legislation is in place for a reason - nobody wants to spend their lunch hour steeped in frivolous petitions ... no offense," he finished, and several beings in the vicinity nodded their relieved agreement.

Still, Obi-Wan remained buoyant, though his smile may have been just the slightest bit pasted on at that point. "No offense meant or taken, I'm sure," he replied smoothly. "I do apologize for not adhering to the strictest of Senatorial procedure ... though I might remind you, Senator Organa," he said, his expression effervescent, now, "that I did attempt to do so already, with limited effectiveness." Bail shifted a little under Obi-Wan's bright-eyed scrutiny, and did not respond.

"Now, then," Obi-Wan continued cheerfully, "I've taken the liberty of making a special request in the Senate kitchens for today's lunch menu, one which the cooks seemed quite happy to oblige. You see," he acknowledged, "it's much less expensive and time-consuming to prepare what passes for a meal in our prisons, though I daresay that this fails to account for taste." Nervously, several Senators watched as a small parade of cooks began passing out plates laden with dubious-looking (and smelling) yellow-ish goop, the consistency of which was somewhere between stew and mashed tuber roots. "Ah, one of my favorites," Obi-Wan smiled.

Behind him, he heard Bail startle as a server attempted to place a tray in front of him: "No, thank you, I, ah, I've brought something from home today," the Alderaanian Senator coughed, and then, once Obi-Wan could no longer pretend that Bail's eyes weren't boring a path clean into the back of his head, added, "Obi-Wan, I'm not sure what to say about this."

But Obi-Wan's expression was still resiliently blithe. "Oh, words would only be frivolous," he proclaimed, watching a couple of politicians at nearby tables poke ineffectually at their meals. "And we wouldn't want to waste anyone's time, now, would we, Senator?" Bail grunted mutinously.

Nearby, Senator Orn Free Ta caused a small commotion by waving his sumptuous arms wildly in the air, one chubby-fingered hand wrapped tightly around his utensil, already dirtied with the slop being touted as food. "I really don't think it's that bad, everybody," Free Ta proclaimed with enthusiastic gusto. "I myself have already had three servings, and it's really quite -" But the rotund Senator was interrupted by the ominous rumblings of his own considerable stomach, which he then lurched and began emptying onto the ground with the force (and sound) of a mother gundark protecting her young from predators. Several people in the vicinity scattered and made noises of surprise and disapproval, including Padme. "Dibs on the 'fresher," she announced, and had begun hobbling towards freedom ... and then stopped when the lanky form of none other than Anakin Skywalker appeared in the main doorway of the lunch room. "Ani?" she queried, and then realization seemed to dawn. "What-" she began, whirling around to glower suspiciously at Obi-Wan, still grinning beatifically.

"If you haven't guessed Anakin's role in this little demonstration today," Obi-Wan meted out with the satisfied patience of a particularly crafty cat, "I've asked him to ensure that access to the best-trafficked 'freshers in the Senate building be blocked, which I trust he's done quite well, given his reputation for such feats at home."

Responding to several pairs (and sometimes, other denominations) of pointed glares aimed in his general vicinity now, the young man took a short bow. "There isn't a single stall on four floors that isn't clogged," he said proudly, and a collective groan went up around the room.

Still, Padme had some fight left in her. "This is bantha shit, Obi-Wan, and you know it," she glowered, the effect slightly marred by the fact that she was clutching her stomach.

Lying on the ground, twitching feebly, Senator Free Ta moaned. "Please don't mention shit," he gasped.

Bail cleared his throat, attempting to regain some dignity. "Obi-Wan, would what it take to end this demonstration?"

As if expecting this very question, Obi-Wan tapped his datapad a few times, and a projection screen began to unfurl with electronic efficiency. Likewise, Anakin waved his hand, and the lights inside the cafeteria began to dim. "As I said previously, I've a six-point plan which details my suggestions for an improved meal menu for Coruscant's prison populace, with updated budget considerations-"

"Obi-Wan," Padme rasped, "I don't CARE about the details. Just show me what to sign to get Anakin to make the 'freshers functional again, and then GET OUT OF MY WAY." Still prone on the floor, alongside his own sick, Senator Free Ta sniffled his agreement.

The Coruscant Prisons Meal Act would go on record as the bill with the fastest turn-around time between being drafted and becoming an active law in Republic history. "I don't think Senator Organa is going to be inviting you to any private dinner parties anytime soon, Master," Anakin noted when Obi-Wan had gotten what he'd come for that day. True to form, Bail had ducked out of the proceedings as swiftly as he could muster without making a scene, favoring Obi-Wan with a somewhat wounded, sidelong glance before hurrying away in a slight swirl of robes.

Obi-Wan seemed largely unfazed by this. "I'm sure Senator Free Ta can take my much-coveted place at his table," he mused, and Anakin smirked. Mission completed, the two Jedi stepped gingerly over the puddle of cold vomit still adorning the floor, and, side by side, made their through the cafeteria's expansive doorway.


End file.
